Rapture's Rendezvous (22 page)

“AH right,” Maria gulped, inching her way toward the gate of the fence. “If you … think . .. so,” she quickly added, hurrying through the gate, shutting it loudly behind her.

She turned and eyed Ruby quizzically when Ruby broke into another of her deep, throaty laughs. Maria smiled sheepishly, then moved on toward the thicket, then pushed her way through the thickness of the trees, wondering if all men were willing to Tight their way through all this just to get to bed up with one of those colored girls? But she knew that the trees were a good cover… a good dividing point, along with the iron bridge, to separate Ruby's way of life from the simpler ways of life of the Italian community.

Maria sighed with relief when she stepped out into the clearing and began to make her way through the Indian grass, stopping to only glance toward Nathan Hawkins's house. She felt the hate brewing inside her, knowing that one day she and this Nathan Hawkins would meet. Maybe by then she would have a plan worked out… a way to accomplish the revenge that he most assuredly deserved.

Laughing lightly, she moved on, stepping onto the iron bridge, seeing rusty flakes of red hanging from its edge. She had to laugh, just knowing that someone had gotten the better of Nathan Hawkins already. Ruby had succeeded at this. In truth, this was the one main reason Maria had decided to truly become friends with Ruby. Ruby appeared to know the secrets of life and
how to get what she wanted. Maybe she would be able to teach Maria just a few things. Maria didn't want to live the life of a whore like Ruby and her girls . .. but she did want to learn how to dress beautifully and how to carry herself … so that when she did meet Nathan Hawkins, he wouldn't even suspect that she was from the Italian community. She would trick him. Yes, that's what she would do. Trick him. Make him bow down to her. . ..

The steady drone of sewing machines echoed down the narrow hallway of the Hopper Shoe Company. Michael listened, proud. When he had first heard whispers diatThe Louisiana Purchase Exposition was going to be taking place in the city of Saint Louis, he had wondered how he could participate in the molding of it. He had known that many things would be needed in the preparations, since every state and territory of the United States was going to be represented with concessions and pavilions and official buildings, as were scores of foreign countries, as well.

When first mention of the need of flags for each of these buildings and pavilions had been made, Michael's mind had begun to work, knowing that was the one thing he could enjoy seeing taken care of. His building was large, with still many unused rooms waiting to be filled with whatever equipment he would desire. He had been admiring the skills of the seamstresses of the city and their abilities in using sewing machines, and he knew that the sewing machine was the tool of the future for the clothing industry. So he had decided to invest in several that could first be put to use making flags for the Saint Louis World's Fair, as The Louisiana Purchase Exposition was now being proudly called by the
businessmen of the community.

Michael walked to the window and gazed outward, seeing the Wainwright Building, Saint Louis's first sky-scraper. A pang of envy rippled through him. He had wanted to be the first to invest in such a building. He had wanted to have the recognition, especially since the Saint Louis World's Fair was going to draw people from all over the world.

Word had even reached Michael that President Roosevelt was going to attend. He was to be there for the opening events of the fair. How marvelous it would have been to have been able to show off such a magnificent building to such a man as Teddy Roosevelt. But now Michael would only be able to boast of having built the second tallest. He already had his plans in the works. His building was to overlook the muddy waters of the Mississippi River and to be built close to the Eads Bridge, where it would be accessible to all travelers to the “Gateway to the West,” as Michael so fondly referred to this city of Saint Louis.

Reaching up, he ran a finger around the top of the detachable collar that he wore today along with his pure silk blue shirt. A diamond stud pin twinkled from the folds of his silk cravat, and his blue, pin-striped woolen suit and tight-fitted breeches made him appear to be of the rich class, which, in truth, he now was.

Michael moved toward the liquor cabinet of his office and removed a fancy crystal decanter from it and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He had felt the need of this strong beverage as of late. It seemed to be the only effective way of erasing the memory of Maria from his mind. He had tried to discover her whereabouts by checking back with the ship
Dolphin's
captain, but had found that neither the captain nor anyone else on board had remembered Maria or Alberto. They had just been two immigrants lost in the crowd.

“Four months,” he grumbled, his blue eyes moody as restless waves on an ocean. “A damn full four months and I still don't know any more than I did. Where in the hell did she disappear to? Will I ever be able to see her . . hold her.. . .”

“Michael, will you please sign these letters,” Alice-said abruptly from behind him, making him turn with a start, wondering if she had heard the words he had just spoken aloud. There had been a strain between the two of them since that day on the train. She had even shown this strain while they made love. Some-thing was lacking in her touch … her kisses.

But Michael knew very well why. Alice wasn't Maria. No one could ever compare with Maria. His dreams were haunted by her full, sensuous lips … the softness of her flesh … the voluptuousness of her breasts. Even now he felt the heat in his loins, even though he knew Uiat he could probably never possess her again. Before Maria, he had found what he had needed in other women's arms. But now all he ever thought about was her. There was so much about her . . . her haunting beauty . .. her innocence… .

Michael set his glass down inside the liquor cabinet, clearing his throat nervously. “Ah, I see you have the letters ready for mailing,” he said, setding down onto a large, comfortable leather chair behind his magnificent desk of solid oak. He picked up his pen and dipped it into ink and began scribbling his name at the bottom of each page.

Alice, appearing the businesswoman she indeed tried to be during working hours, was attired in a black serge skirt with a scarf tied and cascading in colors of purples and greens down the front of her white shirtwaist blouse. The skirt rustled as she sat down on a cushioned chair next to the desk.

“And do you think we'll get the flags ready by May, as we've promised in these letters?” she asked, lifting a hand, repositioning a comb into the deep-piled head of red hair.

Michael lifted one letter after another, still signing. “No problem,” he grumbled, not looking Alice's way. “Don't you hear the machines? Only two have broken down thus far. I'm damn proud of my investment. Making only shoes had become a bore.”

“As I have also become to you, Michael?” Alice hissed, crossing her legs.

Tensing, Michael laid his pen down. The gentle slope to his jaw suddenly tightened as he combed his fingers through his thick mass of blonde hair. He set his lips firmly together, leaning back in the chair, looking with annoyance toward Alice. “Are we going to have to go into that again?” he said flatly.

His hands moved downward and held onto the arms of the chair, the knuckles whitening. He had known that it eventually would come to this. He had grown tired of her constant naggings, even though she was so damn beautiful with her green eyes snapping angrily right now, and her red hair flaming as though it was a million sunsets.

But her sour attitude had suddenly become just an annoyance. There were many secretaries in Saint Louis. Maybe he would just have to seek one of their
services out and say goodbye to Alice.

Alice threw her shoulders back in anger. “What's the matter, Michael? Does the truth hurt? You know that you've been having trouble lately making love. Is it because you're not truly bored .. . but losing your skills as a lover?”

Michael pushed the chair back and rose angrily from it, tightening his hands into two tight fists at his side. “Alice, I think you've seen your last day here at Hopper Shoe Company,” he fumed. “You know when you began giving me more than your secretarial services it wouldn't be forever. And if you must know .. . yes . . . I am bored. You are boring. Now how do you like having that thrown into your face? Can you be the one to face facts? Huh?”

He turned and walked to the window, placing his back to her. He clasped his hands tightly behind him, hating having lashed out at her in such a manner. And, damn it, they had been good for one another. Until Maria. … He felt a presence at his side and turned on a heel, finding Alice there looking almost humble as her lashes fluttered nervously. He withdrew when her hand reached out for his.

“I'm sorry, Michael,” she said. “I don't want to lose my job. I know you won't have any trouble replacing me. Mrs. Smith's Secretarial School is just waiting for such openings. But they aren't as skilled as I. You know that.”

Michael's eyes wavered. He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another glass of whiskey and swallowed it in one fast gulp, feeling it burning his throat, making him cough a bit. He went back to his desk chair and slouched down onto it, leaning back,
placing his feet on the desk. He fitted his fingertips carefully together and watched Alice as she came to sit down, eyeing him questioningly.

“Alice, you do know it's over between us, don't you?” he said softly. “You do know that if you stay on here, it will be only for business purposes? You see, I do know that you are one damn good secretary . . . one I'd have a damn hard time replacing.”

Alice paled. “If that's the way it has to be, I guess I don't have any choice,” she said in a strained voice. She reached upward and wiped a trace of a tear from her eyes, surprising Michael, for up to this point in their relationship, she had put on the air of being hard . . . calculating . . . stubborn.

Damn, he thought to himself. Maybe she does care for me. Could she truly be in love? Naw. She only loves herself. This is only a big act. She's good at that also.

“So you do understand,” he said, letting his feet drop to the floor, scooting his chair up to the desk. He reached into a gold-embossed container and pulled a Cuban cigar from inside it. He bit one end off, spitting it into an ashtray, swirled the cigar around his tongue to wet it, then lit the other end, inhaling deeply, the one thing that he was still able to enjoy … since . .. Maria.

“Yes, Michael, there will be no further harassment from me,” Alice said, reaching for the stack of letters that were already signed. “And did you know that John Philip Sousa's famous band is going to be at the fair to play the opening song?”

Michael sighed heavily, seeing that she was smart to change the subject and return to the discussion of business matters, since he was determined to rid himself of her if she didn't. She had heard the determination in his
voice. He was glad that this thing was finally settled. As for his sexual pleasures, he had ways of seeking out what release he could find beneath a woman's skirts. Alice wasn't the only woman available for such services in this large city of Saint Louis.

“Yes, I've heard,” he finally said, beginning to dip the pen in and out of the inkwell once again, then proceeding with the placing of his signature at the bottom of the pages. “‘The Hymn of the West.' That's what the official song of the fair is going to be called.”

“And I hear that President Roosevelt isn't going to be able to make it after all,” she said, stacking the letters neatly in front of her.

Michael's head jerked upward. “What… ?” he gasped. “Everyone was so anxious to meet him. God. The United Mine Workers of America were eager to see him come here. You know we had hoped he would come to a meeting … see what we are accomplishing. Damn. What bad luck.”

“I know you were counting on it,” she murmured. “But the way they have planned his participation is quite unique. He's to press some sort of telegraph key from his office in the White House that will turn on the electric lights at the House of Electricity that's almost completed here. It's supposed to be the greatest array of electric lights that has ever been seen. Anywhere.”

“How is it that you know of these changes even before I?” Michael grumbled, flicking ashes from his cigar into an ashtray.

“Remember? I'm one top-notch secretary,” she boasted. “I keep up with things. I heard this news on a local radio program today while getting ready for work.”

“Wonders of the electrical age we are now beginning to be a part of,” he sighed, then resumed with his name scribbling.

“Michael… ?”

“Huh … ?” he mumbled, not looking up.

“What have you and the members of the union come up with about die Italian community? Have you decided what you're going to do at Hawkinsville? Have you any plans in progress?”

Michael handed the rest of the letters to Alice, then leaned back in his chair. He removed the cigar from between his lips and mashed it out in the ashtray, sighing heavily. “No. We haven't been able to accomplish a damn thing,” he grumbled. “Those people. They struggle so. They're a proud, hard-working people reaching up in what litde ways they can for dignity and a measure of self-determination. But just as soon as it appears they may have accomplished something in diat direction, Nathan Hawkins sends in his goons and scares the hell out of them.”

“How? What could they do?”

“From the few times I've gone to the saloons in Hawkinsville, I've heard talk of some of the coal miners' having been grabbed in the dark of the night and beaten to a pulp. Such as that. It's a damn shame.”

“I've worried about you going there,” Alice said, placing the letters on her lap, crossing her hands over them. “You know Nathan Hawkins's men have to suspect something. That you're with the union. God, Michael. One of these nights, you're going to find a knife thrust between your ribs.”